The Weasley Blush
by HP.que.nette
Summary: On Wednesdays I curse him to the pits of hell. :RoseScorpius Oneshot:


I didn't need a SuperSensory Charm to know he was staring at me. I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, willing me to turn around, to meet his eyes. But I refused, _refused_ to grant him the satisfaction.

Before I proceed, there are a few things one should know about Scorpius Malfoy.

1) He is a cocky, arrogant, egocentric son-of-a-deatheater.

2) He holds the _official_ Hogwarts record for most girls shagged, completely destroying the one set by Sirius Black however many decades ago.

3) He is _absolutely_ gorgeous. He has these platinum blonde tresses that _every_ girl—no exceptions—has daydreamed about at least once in her life. And his eyes, are these grey chips of ice that suck you in like fucking _vacuums_.

And finally,

4) He has turned a total of three guys gay within the last year.

But there is an asterisk at the end. An overwhelming red disclaimer that can't be ignored. I, Rose Weasley, have never been shagged by him. I don't know the exact numbers regarding his record, but I am not included.

That's not to say I've never daydreamed about him. He was _beautiful_. He was _Malfoy_. People have quite literally made sizable profits pawning his used clothing to love-struck second-years.

The thing is, I kind of hate him. He's beautiful, but he's insufferable. He's a Malfoy. My dad warned me before boarding the Hogwarts Express for the very first time to never get to close. I scoffed and brushed off his warning, but the truth is, I've abided by it unwaveringly. I can't stand him.

On Wednesdays I curse him to the pits of hell.

On Thursdays I threaten to castrate him.

On Fridays I call him a bloody conceited blond womanizer who will undoubtedly knock up some poor girl before we graduate here.

And so on.

The thing is, he's never had an ounce of animosity towards me. In truth…

It was still a mystery to everyone why he pursued _me_. I was the tall, gawky, not-particularly-pretty prefect. A _Weasley_. He, on the other hand, was _gorgeous_. He was the teen dream of Hogwarts. No one understood why he came after me. It's really bizarre.

He'll emerge from a closet in a post-shag stupor and see me walking to the Great Hall. He'll abandon the latest victim of his womanizing in a heartbeart just to walk with me for a few moments.

I was almost positive that it was all a part of his master plan to have bedded _every_ girl in the entire year.

But everyone else thought he was being sincere.

But what's worse is he's a Malfoy. I'm a Weasley. He's a Malfoy. Weasley. _Malfoy_. Our families get along just about as well as Filch and Uncle George did. In other words, not at _all_.

But then again, that's what they thought about my Great Uncle James and Great Aunt Lily. Everyone thought they hated each other. Then they ended up married.

_But that's not going to happen in this situation._ As much as hormones rule my teenage life, I was going to keep it in my knickers and keep my distance. I'm not going to end up a bloody _Malfoy's_ latest conquest.

"Weasley!" I heard a voice. _His_ voice. It was low and seductive, and I had to use all my willpower not to turn around. "Weasley!" I saw Albus, my cousin, tapping his fingers rapidly against our desk. Albus' hate for Scorpius has blossomed into a nervous tic; every time the latter comes within a ten-foot radius of Al, he starts clenching his teeth and drumming his fingers against everything.

"Just ask him what he fucking wants," Albus hissed after my name had been repeated thrice more. I rolled my eyes and turned around. Scorpius grinned at me charmingly, causing me to very much question the consistency of my own knees. That's what most people would call a swoon. Oh lord. Get a grip, Rose. He's a _Malfoy_. Malfoys and Weasley don't mix. I repeated this mantra to myself over and over again until I was sure I could speak in an angry tone.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I asked with as much contempt as I could muster. Even still, Scorpius' smile only grew bigger.

"Nothing at all; just wanted to see your beautiful face," he grinned, winking at me. I felt myself flush, my cheeks tinging scarlet and the tips of my ears heating up. Curse the gene that gave me the Weasley Blush.

Not that I could really help it. Anyone with even a single stand of Weasley DNA was doomed to inherit the Weasley Blush. But what mortified me even further was the fact Malfoy witnessed said Weasley Blush in action. I turned around hastily.

By now, Albus' tapping had become a full-fledged pounding. It was so loud, I was actually surprised that Professor Tabby hadn't turned around and snarled at him. He hammered on, and I knew why. He lived up to the Potter name and loathed the lone Malfoy with a ritualistic passion. He _abhored_ him, really and truly. And he meant it too; no internal swoons or melting of the hearts. (Or so I desperately, _desperately_ hope—as far as I know, Al was not one of those three guys that Malfoy induced a change-of-teams in)

Though, in Malfoy's defense, he really had never done anything bad to Albus. I think Uncle Harry's just been feeding Al so much propaganda that hatred had become inevitable.

I was so lost in thought, I barely heard Professor Tabby dismiss us. Al had to grab my shoulders and quite literally pull me out of my trance. Pull me out hard enough to make me lose my balance and fall over the other side of the chair.

I felt the Weasley Blush creep up on me again. There were a few chortling Slytherin, and I was rather relieved to see that Scorpius was not one of them. Instead, his eyes were twinkling good-naturedly and he offered me his hand. Weasley Blush deepening, I looked around, and upon seeing no other means of getting up, I took it. It was surprisingly warm and soft.

"Definitely not most poised, Weasley," he chuckled.

"Definitely not most intelligent, Malfoy," I retorted unthinkingly. I was sure I saw a flash of – of what? of something harsh—in his face, but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it. Instead, he looked quite jovial.

"Definitely not most humorous, Weasley," he said easily. We were walking now, out of the Transfiguration classroom. I looked out the window to watch the golden sunset. The Weasley Blush was returning again, this time from determination.

"Definitely not most kind, Malfoy." My nose reddened at how lame that sounded. _Kind_? Who the hell cared about _kindness_? But Malfoy look merely amused. He looked up thoughtfully, as I looked around. No one was left in the halls, not even Albus, who never _ever_ left me alone. Especially with _Malfoy_.

"Definitely not most unattractive, Rose." I opened my mouth to shoot something else back but stopped short. Did he just... _compliment_ me? I hesitated. Did that come out wrong? Was he serious? I gaped, while Scorpius looked just a little bit expectant.

"W-What?" I managed to choke out.

"Definetely not most unattractive," he repeated,"Au contraire, actually. I think you're beautiful." He looked at me, his icy grey orbs boring into my own flat, boring brown ones.

"I...uh... thanks," I muttered. My Weasley Blush returned. _Damn that_.

"You don't know how to receive a compliment, do you, Rose?" I hardly registered the first part though, because at that moment it struck me—he had just called me Rose. _Rose_. Not Weasley.

And then it really hit me. It didn't _matter_. It didn't matter what his father did, or what his grandfather did. He wasn't _Malfoy_. He was Scorpius. And I was Rose. Our last names didn't matter. It didn't matter at all. We were _Scorpius_ and _Rose_. Not Malfoy and Weasley. The prospect of this epiphany excited me beyond anything. I guess that was what caused me to do what I did next.

I flung myself at him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my face into his chest and just stood there fucking _hugging_ him for what felt like years. He obviously wasn't expecting this, but after a few moments he tentatively wrapped his arms around me. A murky image of Great Uncle James and Great Aunt Lily flashed in my head. Maybe there _was_ a fine line between love—or, what was it in our case, tolerance?—and hate.

Carefully, I lifted my head and granted Scorpius a kiss. It was tiny, hardly a peck, but I saw as soon as I stepped back that it had the desired effect.

"There's a way to receive a compliment," he mumbled. I looked up, and was surprised to see that his cheeks were the palest, palest shade of pink.

I was truly awed.

"Are you… Scorpius, are you _blushing_?"

Scorpius muttered something incomprehensible.

"Oh my god, I just made Scorpius Malfoy blush!" I yelled down the deserted halls. The words were barely out my mouth when I felt one hand encircle my waist and another press to my mouth.

"Tell _no_ one," Scorpius said seriously. My response was garbled by his palm smashing my lips to my teeth. Carefully, he let go.

"I won't tell anyone that I JUST MADE SCORPIUS MALFOY BLUSH!" I shouted. I scooped my books under my arm and ran from him, laughing. When I had gotten to the very end of the corridor, I turned back. He was still standing there, arms folded, eyebrows knitted, jaw out, cheeks magenta.

How lovely it was to infect someone _else_ with the accursed Weasley Blush.

A _Malfoy_, at that.

I stopped myself. No.

I hadn't infected a Malfoy, I'd infected a _Scorpius_.

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